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Rover and I Go for a Walk

I walked my dog today. His name is Rover. I know, it is an ordinary dog name, but I wanted something traditional for him. I mean, he is a dog, so why give him some avant-garde name for goodness’ sake? He is a Yorkshire terrier. I do not even know what that is. At least that is what I tell people. I have a dog leash that I bought at the Duquoin State Fair in 1975 and I found it in the attic last year. I guess I did not want to go around with a Bergen Record newspaper bag to pick up Rover’s poop—and a New York Times bag would have been a little hoity toity for me—so an invisible Yorkshire terrier on a stiff, fake dog leash seemed right, and there are no ordinances in Leonia requiring us to pick up invisible dog poop.

As I was out walking Rover this morning, I saw one of the softball moms who lives two blocks away. She told me he was a cute dog, but then her dog got a little aggressive with Rover and I had to pull Rover back and tell her to have a nice day. We walked by the home sale board at the GMAAC Realtors office on Broad Avenue and the Dunkin donuts. Rover pulled and whined as if he had wanted to go in Dunkin Donuts, but I had to tell him dogs were not allowed. He lay down in the middle of the sidewalk to protest the cruelty of human beings. Even invisible dogs can be stubborn.
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